


quite frankly, my dears, you're everything to me

by LonesomeDreamer



Category: Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos
Genre: Adoption, Egyptology, F/M, Fluff, Like, Loving Marriage, also boythorpe is annoying, but also angst, lots of egypt stuff, so annoying, tbh i wrote all of this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 22:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: A trilogy of one-shots about Lord Wigmere's personal life, delving perhaps a bit too deeply into love long lost and eventually regained.





	1. four times lord wigmere didn’t listen to caroline, and one time he did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given Lord Wigmere the first name of Gordon, just in case anyone is confused. Happy reading!

The garden was quiet, a full moon shining in the sky above. Light spilled out from the gaiety contained within the estate’s ballroom, a party in full swing. The highest of high society were there partaking in the revelry.

Two figures stole across the grass, having escaped the stifling decorum of their respective circles. One giggled softly and the other grinned with the confidence of youth.

“They mustn’t see us. See you. Gordon, I—”

Caroline yelped, having received a rather improper pinch.

“Gordon!” she cried in hushed tones, making a marvelous attempt to sound scandalized but still managing to fall short.

The young man in question chuckled deeply, a smirk visible in not only the way his lips turned up but in the peculiar wiggle of his mustache. He stood with one hand on his hip, immaculate in the suit that served as unofficial uniform of any man of his rank within society. Blue eyes as deep as the ocean swept their gaze across Caroline’s lovely face, appreciative of the sight before them.

“Quite frankly, my dear, I couldn’t care less if they saw me,” he replied softly, lifting her hand up and allowing his lips to ever-so-gently brush across her smooth skin.

~XXXXX~

“Gordon, you cannot simply break off a planned engagement to—to run off with someone from a lower class! Someone like me! You—”

“You aren’t changing my mind here,” Gordon chuckled softly, running a hand through his thick auburn hair. He was seated at a handsomely-carved desk, head bent over something he was writing. His office itself was quite grand. The carpet was elegant, the chairs comfortable; thick curtains lined the windows, which let in plenty of natural light. Artifacts were displayed in every corner of the room.

Caroline sat in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, head propped up on two delicate hands of ivory. Warm brown eyes sparkled, set in her face like jewels in a particularly fine Egyptian collar piece, as they gazed at the man behind the desk.

“You know you mustn’t.”

Her words broke the brief silence, tumbling through the air like downed birds. They carried with them the weight of a thousand sorrows—as much as she longed for him to continue, it was far more than prudency that caused her to seek his promise to cease.

Gordon glanced up at her. With one hand, he sealed the letter he had been writing; two strides brought him to the door, where he promptly handed it to his secretary.

“My darling, I’m afraid it’s too late for that now,” he hummed softly, a small smile spreading across his face.

“Pack your things. I hear a wedding in Paris is quite beautiful this time of year.”

~XXXXX~

Their bedroom was cozy and warm, possessing of every creature comfort known to man and reminiscent of some fond memory of a dream. A four-poster bed sat resplendent in the middle of the space. Personal effects were scattered here and there, giving the room a homey feel, and there were a few articles of clothing strewn about.

Lord Wigmere was incredibly conscious of the fact that his wife’s face was pressed into his chest. He held her tightly as she sobbed, whole body heaving in agony.

“I’m sorry, Gordon,” Caroline whispered. “I’m so sorry. This is—”

“If you tell me this is your fault, my dear, I’ll have to scold you,” Gordon replied gently.

“But you must continue your family,” Caroline whispered. “You have to! To...to have a wife who is childless and barren…”

“The simple fact that we cannot have children changes nothing about my relationship with you, my love,” Wigmere insisted.

He caressed her face with one gentle hand, lifting her chin up and wiping away the tears that were spilling down her pale cheeks.

“I love you just the same, Caroline. Life will go on.”

~XXXXX~

The air smelt acrid. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen sunlight, the last time he had bathed, the last time he had been free from the thick metal cuffs that chained him to the wall, and yet he was acutely aware that it had not been that long.

He cast a glance down at his leg. Through the rips in his tattered trousers, he could make out a mess of matted, dried blood. He was fairly certain he could see the bone, too, for the majority of the flesh around the wound had been stripped clean away. If it remained untreated, it would not be long before gangrene and pus set in.

If he closed his eyes, he could just barely picture home. It was almost painful to try, though, for any such thought made him ache for the warmth of the hearth at home and a comforting touch on his shoulder.

Gordon gritted his teeth, trying his hardest to ignore the excruciating pain he was in. It was a barely possible task, for the slightest of movements aggravated his injury, and so he turned his thoughts to home.

_“I won’t have you going, Gordon! You were almost killed last time!”_

_“Almost, Caroline,” Gordon chuckled, running a comb through his hair. He was in one of his less-fine suits, and a small suitcase sat by his feet._

_“I will be home in no time at all, my love. You know how excited I get when a new dig site is opened.”_

_With a kiss on the cheek, he was gone. Caroline stood and watched him leave, a sinking feeling in her chest._

Sounds of a skirmish drew his attention back to the present. Through blurred vision, he could just make out the opening of a door before him; light flooded the tiny prison, and so did a plethora of familiar voices.

“Lord Wigmere!”

“He’s in here, gentlemen! We’ve found him!”

“Someone fetch a medic—and a surgeon!”

“His wife will be comforted by the news of this, I should think.”

“I say, that looks rather nasty…”

Relief surged into every inch of his body; Gordon let himself sag against the chains and pass into the bliss of unconsciousness.

~XXXXX~

“Caroline, please….”

The drapes were drawn. No light entered the room, for all was shrouded in darkness. Dust had collected in spots that had been neglected by the routine of the maid for His Lordship’s want of privacy.

Lord Wigmere sat behind his desk, head in his hands. His auburn hair had turned gray far too prematurely, one of many signs of the stress and pain he had endured. Upon the desk before him was a single scrap of paper, marked in his own handwriting with two words.

“I refuse to believe that you are gone,” Gordon whispered, shoulders shaking. No matter how desperately he tried, he could not hold back the onslaught of tears that stemmed from the deep sorrow within him.

_“Don’t cry for me, Gordon. Focusing on the past will give you no help in continuing on with life.”_

“I don’t want to move on!” he choked out, one hand pressed to his mouth as tears flew wildly in every direction. His mustache was soaked with salty water. It was a rather pitiful sight—and a prime reason as to why he rarely indulged in crying.

_“But you must, my love. For me. Please.”_

“I know that’s what you’d tell me,” Gordon whispered, throat clotted with emotion. He could barely make out words, so overwhelmed was he.

It had been decades since Caroline had gone missing, kidnapped in broad daylight without a single trace—no witnesses, no evidence. He had refused to give up, believing she was still alive and simply in need of rescuing.

“...I promise you, my love. I promise.”

Alone he sat, amongst memories. It took him several minutes to collect himself.

He moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this series at the library over five years ago and was instantly drawn to it. To my surprise, I discovered that it does not have any sort of fandom! These stories were spawned from late nights and the thought of what if - did Lord Wigmere ever have a wife? If he did, what would her story be? Many thanks to the lovely folks on the Gothic Lit Discord (hehe) for reading my writing and helping me figure out a few key elements to each little story. I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please feel free to give kudos or even (*gasp*) a comment sharing what you enjoyed and what, if anything, you'd like to see next!
> 
> ~LonesomeDreamer


	2. come home

It was terribly late, and Theodosia knew she was in a heap of trouble. The sun had slipped beneath the horizon; the lamps that lined the streets of London were ablaze with light, a sure sign that she should have returned to the museum hours ago. By the time the young girl arrived, she had fallen and muddied her dress several times.

“Father would be furious if he saw me like this,” Theodosia muttered, casting a glance down at the ruined fabric and sighing. She reached into her pocket for the key to the side door, and paused.

There was no key in there.

With a sinking feeling, Theodosia realized that she had left the key on the makeshift desk in the tiny old office she called her room. She had no way into the museum.

It took her several moments to calm down enough to begin to take stock of things. No way in meant she’d have to go somewhere else for the night, but where?

“....Somerset House,” Theodosia breathed, relief pouring over her face. She quickly turned and made for the aforementioned building, thankful that she had managed to come up with a solution to the problem in a quick and efficient manner.

The doorman at the building let her in with a mildly confused gaze, but he did not question the girl as she made her way to Lord Wigmere’s office.

“And what do you want?”

Theodosia sighed.

“I just need to have a word with Lord Wigmere, sir. Please, it’s a matter of—”

“His Lordship has had a very long day,” Boythorpe replied snottily. “The last thing he needs is a sniveling, annoying little brat like you to—”

“I beg your pardon? There is no need for that language, Boythorpe.”

Lord Wigmere’s stern tones rung out in the otherwise quiet hall. Boythorpe practically withered before him, melting into his own shoes.

“But—but sir—”

“I am more than happy to devote a few minutes of my time to Miss Theodosia,” Lord Wigmere replied. His thick white eyebrows had returned from their brief journey into his hairline, and were now resting comfortably above his ocean-blue eyes.

“What is it, Miss Theodosia? I was just preparing to leave for the day.”

“Well, sir, it’s…” Theodosia began quietly, twisting the toe of her shoe against the carpet.

“Spit it out, my dear,” Wigmere chuckled deeply, mustache twitching.

“....I’m locked out of the museum, sir. And I’ve nowhere to sleep. I was wondering if I could, perhaps, sleep on the floor here?”

For once, Lord Wigmere and Boythorpe wore the exact same expression upon their faces: disgust.

“Absolutely not!” Boythorpe cried. “This is no place for a child to be—to be sleeping and staying all hours of the night!”

“Quite right,” Gordon nodded. “I shall set you up at my home, Theodosia. Will that work for the night?”

“Wait, what?” Boythorpe spluttered. “Sir, you cannot just—”

“Excellent,” Wigmere hummed, winking at Theodosia. “Follow me, my dear.”

Cane in hand, he began to thump down the hallway. Theodosia followed at a fast clip in an attempt to keep up, leaving Boythorpe stammering alone at the end of the hallway.

Neither spoke again until they had settled into Lord Wigmere’s car, His Lordship himself examining the time provided to him by a rather fine pocketwatch he wore threaded through his vest.

“You oughtn’t be up this late,” he tutted, running a hand through his thick white hair and glancing over at Theodosia. “I suppose there’s some sort of explanation, although I assure you I am a much stricter figure of authority than your father and—”

He paused, gaze softening as he stared at the young girl.

Theodosia had fallen asleep with one cheek against the window, strands of dark brown hair framing her face. It was clear she was incredibly exhausted from whatever exploits the day had contained.

She did not stir when they arrived at Wigmere’s estate; he ordered his valet to remove her from the vehicle without disturbance, before requesting that the house staff ready a room and a fresh set of pajamas and clothes for the girl. Despite the difficulty he faced in doing so, Gordon limped his way up the stairs to see Theodosia put to bed. Amongst the covers she was frail and small, and he felt an odd bubble of pride rise up in his chest.

“She seems comfortable,” Gordon murmured, unable to tear his gaze away from Theodosia. Eventually, he turned and headed to his own room—still puzzling over the strange emotions filling his mind.

The morning followed a brisk tempo: both got up, had a quick breakfast, and got into the car once more. Theodosia was let off at the museum, while Lord Wigmere continued to Somerset House and the Antiquarian Society. He had indeed had a rough go of it the previous day, and many papers were left over; these he set to doing, with strict instruction for no interruption unless Miss Throckmorton came by.

And indeed she did, later that day. Theodosia dropped into one of the chairs opposite Lord Wigmere’s desk, sighing. She ran her hands over the pink-patterned fabric of the frock she wore, marveling at its fine quality.

“Shall I pour for you, sir?” she asked.

“That would be delightful,” Wigmere hummed absentmindedly, more focused on the paper in front of him than the tea tray that had been brought in. Upon finishing his notes, he turned his chair around to file it away.

“My father didn’t notice that I’d been gone,” Theodosia hummed offhandedly, pouring out two cups of tea.

Gordon paused, freezing in his seat.

“...he didn’t, did he?” he murmured, gears already turning in his head.

Theodosia didn’t notice the strange shift in his tone.

“No, sir. I mean—I’m more than used to it, but—”

Lord Wigmere interrupted her, turning his chair around to face her with a rather peculiar expression on his face.

“How would you feel about being adopted?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, I just feel like Wigmere would end up adopting Theodosia even if their relationship is more like grandfather and granddaughter. Perhaps that's just my take!
> 
> ~LonesomeDreamer


	3. my dear, how i’ve missed you

The quiet routine of day-to-day life had changed little for Lord Wigmere over the decades since the first rise of the Serpents of Chaos. His injury prevented him from doing much fieldwork anymore, and thus he was largely confined to Somerset House and its facilities when it came to the days. Nights were spent at home, relaxing with a glass of wine and perhaps reading—or re-reading—one of his favorite books. Occasionally he would attend a social function, as best befit his station in society, or perhaps attend a play.

Now that Theodosia was his adoptive daughter, his life had become increasingly interesting—and chaotic. The two spent every available hour discussing and debating aspects of Ancient Egyptian society, culture, and history. When new artifacts arrived at the Brotherhood, the two would examine them together. There was rarely a dull moment between them.

And yet, there was still a gaping hole in Lord Wigmere’s heart. Nothing could repair the guilt and grief he felt over the loss of his wife, even if he had healed somewhat over the past near-century. He often found himself staring off into space and recounting fond memories of their marriage—he had spent many an evening doing just that.

It was on one such evening that Lord Wigmere was sitting in his study, glass of Cabernet Sauvignon in hand, examining the lapis and gold filament of his Brotherhood ring. Next to that ring was another slightly less ornate ring, but equally worn and obviously loved. To state that it was his wedding band was a superfluous fact to any observer, for the tender and sorrow-filled gaze he gave it was more than enough of a tell.

“I miss you, my dearest,” he murmured softly, raising the ring to his lips and giving it a gentle kiss.

The shrill, piercing ring of his private telephone startled him out of his seat. Gordon let his hand drop into his lap for the briefest of moments before reaching for the device and holding it to his ear. Despite the years that had gone by, he still preferred an old-fashioned-looking landline telephone; one had been made specially for him, with all the modern technology, at his request.

“Lord Wigmere speaking?”

“Several operatives are currently seeking to speak with you, your lordship,” Boythorpe replied snidely. “Shall I let th—”

“Put them on!” Wigmere cried. “Why haven’t you already?”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” Boythorpe coughed. You could practically feel his mortification through the telephone.

“Bramfield and Stokes here, sir. We’ve found her,” Stokes said breathlessly.

“I beg your pardon?” Lord Wigmere chuckled. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, my good sir.”

As he spoke, he had another sip of wine and let the flavor float around his mouth as he savored it. This gave the operatives a moment to calm down and order their thoughts.

“We’ve found her!” Bramfield cried. “Caroline! Your wife!”

Gordon froze.

His wineglass crashed to the floor with such a loud shattering noise that it awoke Theodosia, who was sleeping upstairs. She sat upright, suddenly wide awake, before slipping out of bed and rushing to put on her robe.

“Is she alive?” Gordon whispered, fear clutching at his heart and attempting to fight down the sliver of hope that had wormed its way into his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Stokes replied quietly. “Alive and well, if a bit battered. She’s on her way home to England now.”

“She—she—”

Wigmere was hyperventilating, unable to reconcile the words he was hearing with the intense emotion he was experiencing.

“Papa, are you alright?”

Theodosia stood in the doorway, dark brown hair falling in sheets around her face. She wore an expression of deep concern practically etched into her face.

Lord Wigmere took a moment to focus on the face of Theodosia, allowing his breathing to calm. His gaze roved over the black cat and ankh patterning of her nightgown, still visible despite the fact that she had put on her robe over it.

“Theodosia, I….”

He paused and cleared his throat, still painfully aware of the worried stare he was on the receiving end of.

“I need to head to Somerset House, my dear,” he managed softly, nearly hoarse from the simple fact that his throat was clouded with emotion. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Shall I stay up and wait?” Theodosia asked.

It didn’t take much for the girl to recognize that something serious had happened. Most days, Lord Wigmere wore a frown and was visibly worried. He constantly faced problems that rose out of the dust and required critical thinking to be solved, and that was not extraordinarily hard for the man. But the expression he wore at that exact moment was one that Theodosia had never seen before. Pure shock, like a deer in the headlights, was written all over His Lordship’s face.

“...no, no. That won’t be necessary, Theodosia.”

As he spoke, Lord Wigmere shook his head almost violently as if he were clearing some extraneous thought from his mind. His mustache twitched, and for a moment his typical genial expression had reappeared.

“I shall be back soon. Go back to sleep, my dear,” he hummed, fetching his cane and limping over towards the door. He gave Theodosia a gentle kiss on the top of her head before thumping down the hall.

~XXXXX~

Lord Wigmere’s valet had never driven so fast in his life. The drive to Somerset House was, however, quick and uneventful; traffic had calmed down and allowed them to reach the Brotherhood’s headquarters in excellent time. Gordon practically launched himself out of the car, so frantic was he to get inside. He limped up to the front steps and hauled himself inside.

“I’ve made it!” he cried, throwing open the door to his office. “I—”

And there she was, stretching back in a chair and rubbing at rope marks on her wrists. Her captors had been crass, but not unkind; she hadn’t sustained any severe injuries, and had in fact been treated with a fair bit of kindness. Caroline tossed her hair over her shoulder—still a beautiful rich shade of brown, albeit tinged with grey—and began to tie it back when she looked up and noticed Lord Wigmere.

Blue eyes met brown for the first time in over half a century.

Gordon pressed a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking, as tears began to pour down his cheeks. The few operatives in the room immediately took that as their cue to leave, and they closed the door behind them.

“Caroline,” he whispered, still shaking. “I—I spent so long looking—”

“And I don’t doubt that,” Caroline replied softly, rising from her chair and approaching him. She raised a hand up to his face and trailed her fingertips across his cheekbone; Gordon whimpered and melted into her touch. He could feel the cool metal of her wedding band against his skin and almost let out a sob at the sensation.

“You’ve found me now, my darling husband. That’s all that matters.”

The rest of her words went unsaid, as Gordon pulled her into a kiss. Neither wanted to break the embrace; it had been far too long since they had been able to be with each other.

“I suppose I ought to get you home,” Wigmere chuckled breathlessly, running a hand through his thick white hair. He began to laugh as Caroline copied the motion, her fingers tickling his scalp.

“Oh! I’ve—er….I’ve adopted a young girl, my dear. She loves Egypt nearly as much as I do, and, well, quite frankly, I entirely disagree with the way her father neglected her—except for the fortuitous opportunity for her to be so exposed to ancient history on such a close level—and—”

Caroline stopped him, delicate fingers pressed to a pair of lips that had longed for years to speak these thoughts to their other half. Her eyes were shining with tears as she let her hand fall to her side from Wigmere’s face.

“We have a child,” she whispered.

It wasn’t a question.

Gordon found himself unable to respond verbally, for a great wave of joy had overcome him and closed his throat. After several minutes, he found his voice again.

“Yes, my darling,” he nodded slightly. “We have a child. A beautiful, wonderful little girl. And I’d love nothing more for you to meet her. And to spend the night with you. And to spend tomorrow with you. And the day after. And the day after that. And—”

“Gordon, you’re rambling,” Caroline giggled, wrapping herself in his arms. “I want to go home. I want to meet this girl. And I want to spend time with you.”

Gordon grinned sheepishly, mustache twitching.

“Of course, my love. Off we go,” he smiled.

~XXXXX~

Theodosia was standing in the entrance hall when they returned, still in bare feet and her nightie. The door was flung open with great ceremony by a beaming Lord Wigmere, who looked happier than he ever had in the time that Theo had known him.

“Theodosia, my dear, it would be my greatest pleasure to introduce you to Caroline—my wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid that's all for now! I do hope you've all enjoyed this. I had a lovely time writing it, and I really do hope that more people discover this lovely little series!
> 
> ~LonesomeDreamer


End file.
